Weeping Angel
by echos-of-a-life-past
Summary: How can Castiel learn to forgive himself after nearly killing Dean?


A/N: _Credit for a certain idea goes to NorthernSparrow on Archives of Our Own._

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. He really was worried about Castiel. No matter how much he put on an air of assuredness for Sam, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. Seriously wrong. It wasn't that the angel hadn't been answering Dean's phone calls and prayers, because he had. But when he did, he was even swifter and no-time-for-dilly-dallying than usual. If possible, his voice was more monotone and expressionless. Castiel was more reluctant to share his opinions or ideas, and if he did he was quick to add that it probably wouldn't work. As if he wasn't sure of himself. And Dean had never seen Castiel in that state.

Of course, it hadn't really occurred to Dean to actually talk to Castiel about this. He was sure the guy could work it out on his own. Right? He was _pretty_ sure. Well, Castiel had been through a lot lately. Which was an _enormous_ understatement. He had gone through more than anyone Dean had known, really. First it was the Leviathans taking control and nearly killing him, then the insanity, then being sent to Purgatory and not making it back. Dean still hadn't forgiven himself for not getting Castiel out. But then, it turned out, Castiel got out by himself. Well, not by himself. With the help of this bitch angel named Naomi. And she brainwashed Castiel into nearly killing Dean for the angel tablet. After that happened, there was this period of extreme awkwardness, and then both parties silently agreed to basically forget about it and dutifully work on cases together. Nothing more, nothing less. Castiel had stashed the tablet somewhere and Dean was too shaken up by what happened to bring it up.

Dean was driving to Michigan with Sam riding shotgun as per usual to work on a possible case. Sam insisted on calling Castiel to help, but Dean didn't want to bother him. Nevertheless, Castiel agreed to meet the Winchesters in Michigan.

"Dean, Cas wants to help, you know. It's not like we're troubling him." Sam said, pulling Dean out of his trance. "This isn't about what happened with Purgatory, is it? Dude, you couldn't get him out. It's as simple as that. Stop blaming yourself for it. He's out now. Isn't that all that matters?"

"No...no. That's not it. I just...the guy's been through a lot lately. I mean, doesn't he have business with the other angels or something?"

Sam shrugged and they continued the ride in silence until arriving at a small motel in a small town in northern Michigan. Sam and Dean stepped out of the car.

"You should call Cas." Sam stated. Dean sighed, then pulled out his cell phone.

"No, you should pray to him." Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes. "It's quicker." Sam added. Dean raised his eyebrows, and flipped open the phone, pressing Castiel's speed dial. Praying had always made Dean uneasy, especially now.

Dean brought the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring once before it was immediately picked up.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean hesitated.

"Hey, Cas."

There was a pause.

"Shall I come meet you now?" Castiel asked.

"Uh...yeah. We're at the Cainsville motel in Cainsville, Michigan. Just outside in the parking lot."

With a flap, flap of wings and a slight rush of air that stirred a few stray leaves on the pavement, Castiel appeared. It wasn't like Dean hadn't seen this a hundred times already but he was still...blown away. Castiel was just standing there before Dean, his ill-fitting coat bunched up at the shoulders, his tie disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, his dark hair mussed. And Castiel was staring deep into Dean's soul with those piercing blue eyes, so grim, so serious. A single black feather drifted down and settled on the pavement.

"I'll go lug our stuff to the room. You two catch up." Sam gave a quick smile, pulling the suitcases out of the car and hurrying off to check in. Dean shifted his feet.

"So, Cas, how's life been?"

"You wish to know of my endeavours not involving you?" Castiel tilted his head. Dean chuckled.

"Yeah. How are things going?"  
"Things are going fine, Dean. Nothing that concerns you." Castiel said harshly.

Dean lowered his gaze to the ground.

"Cas, there's something I need to ask you about."

The breeze stirred their hair and sent a chill up Dean's spine.

"Yes?" Castiel said, his voice rough.

"Ever since...ever since you got out of Purgatory, you've been...different. Not yourself, not really."

"How do you mean?"

"It's like...I mean, you've never let much emotion show. If you had any at all. But now it's like talking to a rock. There's something wrong with you, man."

"Dean, that doesn't make sense. Rocks don't speak." Castiel replied. Dean sighed shakily.

"Look, I know you've been trying to make it up to me. All the hunting with us? But you don't have to, Cas. I forgive you. How many times do I have to tell you? You were brainwashed, it wasn't your fault!" Dean said.

Castiel glanced down, then looked back into Dean's eyes with even more intensity than before. His eyes were a deep blue now, and painfully morose. The daylight shone in them, sparkling, and suddenly all Dean wanted to do was pull poor Castiel in close and hold him. Which was not typical Dean. He really wasn't the tender type, especially towards guy angels.

"No. It was my fault, Dean. Everything, the Leviathans, everything, it's all my fault. So I'm trying to help you out without messing up. But it's only a matter of time before it happens again. I'm not good luck, Dean. You probably don't even want me around."

Dean grabbed Castiel's arm.

"No, no, no, Cas. I do want you around, I do. Trust me, I-"

"No you don't. I'll only cause you more pain." With a pained expression and blue eyes that made Dean's heart tug at his chest, Castiel shook Dean's hand off and disappeared with a mournful flap, flap.

"Dude, I can't believe you scared the poor guy off."

"For the last time, Sam, it wasn't like that. Cas has other things he has to do." Dean huffed, sitting on the motel bed.

"Yeah, well, calling him five times in the past two hours doesn't speak to that." Sam said.

Dean sighed, laying back on the springy bed. He closed his eyes., trying to send a silent prayer to Castiel. He was getting kind of desperate, even though it had only been a few days. He just wanted to know if the guy was okay.

The case was over. It had been a week and a half, and the Winchesters had cleaned out the vampire nest and moved on to the next job: a Djinn hideout in Ohio. The Winchesters shut that one down. Two months later, and still Castiel hadn't answered either of the brothers' phone calls or prayers. Then two months stretched into three, and five, and then ten, and then a _year_. Neither Dean nor Sam had heard anything from Castiel. Just dead silence. And Dean was becoming worried out of his mind. Sam, at first, believed that the angel simply needed some space. But now he was starting to think it was more than just that. He demanded Dean relay every minor detail of his last conversation with Castiel, and Dean had complied. Multiple times. Down to the very wrinkles on Castiel's coat. The Winchesters had looked into any case that seemed remotely possible for the culprit to be angelic. But there was no finding an angel that didn't want to be found. Sam had even considered the worst.

"You don't think…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"No. Cas is alive."

"But how do you know that?"

"Would you just shut up about it?!"

Sam shut up about it. They rode in silence to the bunker. Dean settled himself alone in his room with a case of beers and some magazines. He opened a beer and sipped slowly, his eyes unfocused over the magazines. What if Castiel really had died? What would Dean do? What if Castiel had _killed himself_?! Would he do that? Castiel was Dean's only true friend left. They had been through so much together. From the day that Castiel had walked through those warded barn doors, the lights flickering and throwing sparks down, Dean's life had changed forever. And now that was going to end because Castiel couldn't stop blaming himself for hurting Dean? Dean had been hurt so many times, so close to death so many times...and Castiel was punishing himself for one of those times that wasn't even his fault? Dean couldn't take it. Tears were welling up in his eyes. Pathetic. Dean took another swig of beer. He could get through this. It wasn't like Dean was in love with the guy...So why did it hurt so damn much?

"Damn it, Cas." Dean whimpered, a tear spilling over and running down his cheek. A whole year. It had been a whole freaking year. "I'm starting to give up on you, you know that? Say something, please! Please, Cas!"

As if on cue, Dean heard a distant cry. It was desperate, that cry. And heartbroken. But it couldn't be….

"Cas?!" Dean leapt up and full-out ran towards the source of the sound. He got lost for a moment in the bunker's hallways, and listened for another noise. Anything. Please. A long few minutes passed, and Dean heard another choked sob. He rushed to the doorway of a room that he didn't even know existed, and stopped dead. The walls were white, the ceiling was white, the floor was white. And in the middle of it all kneeled Castiel, trenchcoat and all...but from his back sprouted enormous black and grey feathered wings. They were beautiful...and forlorn. The feathers were a soft grey, some shimmering silver, all tipped in inky black. From Castiel's eyes dripped tears of dark blood onto the pristine white floor. His shoulders were shaking and he held the silver angel blade, stained with blood, but he didn't look up at Dean. Dean was too astonished to say anything. Then it all disappeared and suddenly Dean was staring at a blank tiled wall. The room was gone. Dean ran his hands over the wall in disbelief, shouting.

"Cas! Cas! Castiel, where'd you go?!"

Sam came rushing to Dean's side in only boxers.

"What is it? Did you see Cas? How? There's only a blank wall here." He said.

"I-I saw him...he was right there in this white room...his wings...the blood….oh God…"

"Dean, there's nothing here."

"B-but I just saw…"

Sam firmly spun Dean around to face him, holding his forearms in place.

"Well, there's nothing there now. And if Cas needs help, all we can do is pray to him. Have faith, Dean. If you saw him then maybe he's trying to contact us."

Dean shook Sam's hands off his arms.

"How can I 'have faith', Sam?! I saw Cas, and he looked like he was in trouble!" Dean shouted.

"What did you see, Dean?" Sam asked slowly.

Dean explained the scene he had seen to Sam, and Sam nodded grimly.

"I think he's trying to contact us. It seems like he's in distress-"

"Well no kidding!"

"Angels shed tears of blood when they're in great distress. As for his wings, he could be trying to ground himself. The same way that humans clutch at themselves when they're unsure."

"And the bloody blade?"

"...I don't know. Maybe he got in a fight?"

Dean shook his head.

"How are we supposed to help him?!" Dean cried.

Sam sighed.

"Like I said, we'll just have to wait it out." He paused. "You know, Dean, I've never seen you this broken up about anybody but me before."

"He's my friend! We need him, _I_ need him!"

There was a long pause.

"Don't worry. We'll find him. Somehow." Sam patted Dean's shoulder and left for his room, leaving Dean standing at the blank wall and gasping for breath.

Dean didn't fall asleep until early in the morning. He dreamt that he was standing in a field of golden grass, dancing in the wind. The field stretched in every direction for seemingly forever. The sky was a clear blue. Dean looked around, confused. Where were his dreams of hunting with Sam, the old movies, the Impala? Then Dean heard a distant melody, a beautiful young voice singing. The melody was sweet and gentle, pure and innocent. And it was coming closer. Dean closed his eyes, drinking in the sound. When he opened his eyes he saw the sprightly figure of a child, glowing white. It was almost too bright to look at. The child leapt and skipped around Dean in a graceful dance, paying Dean no mind. It was clad in only a white toga. The face was beautiful, neither male nor female. Or was it both male and female? Between its shoulder blades sprouted familiar black and grey feathered wings, a bit larger than the child's body. They arched up and swept the ground. Those were Castiel's wings.

"Castiel?" Dean asked in amazement. He rarely used Castiel's full name. `The child stopped skipping and looked up at Dean.

"Yes, Dean, it is I." Castiel fluffed his wings. Somehow it had the same effect on Dean as if Castiel had smiled the brightest, happiest smile. Dean smiled back. It was strange hearing the child's, no, _Castiel's_ voice. So young and clear like a silver bell. And yet, so familiar and comforting.

"Is this...is this how you really are? Like your true form or something?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Castiel pulled his wings back, and they seemed to shrink. "It's a little embarrassing, but I thought it was the only way to get through to you."

"Embarrassing?"

"It's a little like getting naked in front of you."

"Oh." Dean shifted his feet. "So...you're a child."

"By angel standards, I am." Castiel replied. And yet, Castiel was _millions_ , if not _billions_ of years older than Dean.

"How come I can see you without getting my eyes burnt out?"

"This is a dream. It's indirect perception." Castiel said.

"You said it's the only way to get through to me?"

"Yes. Otherwise you would simply think it was your own mind's creation."

"So what are you here to tell me?"

"That I will be on your doorstep when you wake up. But I have to warn you, I am not in good condition."

Then the dream ended and Dean bolted awake, throwing off his covers and running to the door to the bunker. He flew up the stairs and stopped at the door. He pulled it open carefully and slowly, watching. But there was nothing there. Dean's shoulder's sagged. So it was only a dream. He turned to close the door before he heard a quiet grunt from somewhere nearby. Dean stepped outside and spotted the trenchcoat under a bush. Dean picked it up, confused. Castiel appeared next to the bush, hunched over and bloodstained. Dean dropped the coat and steadied Castiel.

"Whoa, whoa, what happened?"

Castiel shook his head furiously.

"No, no, I shouldn't be here." He strained as if he was going to fly away, but nothing happened. "It took all my power to get me here-" Castiel moaned, leaning against Dean.

"We've got to get you inside." Dean said. Then Castiel's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground. Dean kneeled in front of him, holding his limp body up.

"No, no, no. Please Cas, wake up!" Dean gently slapped Castiel's cheek. "Come on, come on!"

"Sam!" Dean shouted. "Sam, get your ass up, Cas needs help!"

Dean took a deep breath and leaned Castiel's head against Dean's shoulder. He clutched at Castiel's bloody shirt, pleading silently that maybe if he held the angel tight enough he would wake up.

"Sam, he's not breathing!" Dean shouted, his voice cracking. Finally, finally, finally Sam came charging up the stairs and rushed to help Dean carry Castiel, whose lips were turning blue and whose skin was icy cold, into the bunker and onto the closest bed. Sam tore Castiel's shirt off, revealing neat lines of deep cuts all up his torso, a dim light glimmering through each.

"Oh God, who cut you like that?" Sam muttered. But Dean already knew the answer.

"What can I do?" Dean murmured nervously.

"Grab me some holy water...and a towel, and _lots_ of bandages."

Dean scrambled to find all Sam had asked for. He lamented that he couldn't do more to help, but it was Sam who knew all the medical stuff, though….how much did Sam _really_ know about angels? If it was Dean, he would have just slapped on the bandages and hoped for the best.

Dean set the supplies on the bed.

"Is he alive?" Dean asked gingerly.

"Judging by the grace light coming through the wounds, maybe." Sam answered. He opened the canister of holy water and wet the towel with it. Sam dabbed the wounds with the towel, and slowly the light escaping dimmed until it was barely noticeable. Dean sighed in relief. Sam applied the bandages to the deeper wounds and stood up.

"Now we'll just have to wait and hope for the best.' Sam sighed.

And they waited. For a week. Dean didn't leave the bunker. He spent most of the time sitting on the edge of the bed Castiel lay on and worrying his hands. He didn't sleep or eat, hardly. But, oh Lord, did he drink. He went through more beers in that week than he usually did in a month. He never let himself get drunk, however. He had to be there in case Castiel woke up or things got worse. The rest of the time he spent reading up on angels, but there wasn't much there that he didn't already know by now.

On the eighth day, Dean was walking back to the room Castiel lay in when he saw Castiel just standing there, in the doorway. It nearly gave Dean a heart attack, but Dean dropped the books he was holding on his bare toes and flew towards Castiel, pulling him into a careful hug, feeling his warmth and noticing that familiar faint scent of lavender. Castiel sighed softly and put his arms around Dean. The two embraced for a long moment before Castiel pulled away. A single tear of blood ran down Castiel's cheek. Dean wiped it away and Castiel looked into Dean's eyes.

"I've caused you more pain." Castiel stated, his voice broken. Dean gripped his shoulder, overcome with emotion.

"You need to listen to me, Castiel. Enough with this self-loathing crap. Everyone makes mistakes. But what you need to understand is that _I forgive you_. When someone is wronged who gets to decide the fate of the sinner?"

"God?" Castiel said simply, unsure.

"Who gets to decide the fate of the sinner?"  
"The wronged."

"That's right, Cas. The wronged. Not the sinner. And I say it wasn't your fault and I forgive you so you need to learn to forgive yourself."

"Do you really mean that, Dean?" Castiel looked down.

"Yes. And, Cas?"

"Yes?"

Dean pulled Castiel into a tight embrace.

"We're family. Family doesn't leave when the going gets rough. We stick together."

Dean pulled Castiel closer.

"I need you, Cas. _I love you_."

"So that really was your true form?" Dean asked. He and Castiel sat on Dean's bed. Sam sat in a chair across from the two.

"Yes." Said Castiel, glancing around nervously.

"You don't need to be embarrassed, Cas. It was...one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." Dean said quietly.

"What was it like?" Sam asked.

"That was for Dean's eyes only. I'm sorry, Sam." Castiel answered quickly.

"Oh yeah, your 'more profound bond' or whatever. Yeah, I get it." Sam said dejectedly.

"That was you trying to contact me through the dream?" Dean asked.

"Yes. When an angel is about to die, it sends out a distress signal to the angel it is closest to. But in this case it happened to be human. Dean."

"So your internal coding or whatever thought I could save you?" Dean asked.

"Well, you did, didn't you?"

"It was more Sam, really…"

Castiel looked to Sam.

"Thank you, Sam. You saved my life."

Sam nodded slowly.

"'Course, Cas."

"What was the vision that I saw in the wall? Was that real?" Dean asked.

"Yes. That was another distress signal."

"So if you had your way, you would have just died out there without me." Dean said, his eyes downcast.

Maybe Dean imagined it, but he thought he saw Castiel give the slightest nod.

Sam took a long intake of breath.

"So...will anyone explain to me what the hell is actually going on?" Sam asked forcefully.

Castiel looked at the ground. Dean sighed and explained to Sam what really happened after Purgatory.

"Oh my God, I had no idea…" Sam whispered.

"I'm so sorry. I should just leave-" Castiel muttered.

"CAS!" Dean barked. "Don't leave." He said more quietly. "What do I have to do, kiss you?"

There was an agonizing pause.

"No, Dean, you don't have to do that." Castiel said. Dean sighed. But was it relief...or disappointment? Dean couldn't tell. He chuckled.

Castiel sighed. "It's going to take a long time for me to get better. But I realize now what I've done wrong."

Dean said nothing, but pulled Castiel close and hugged him for a long time. Eventually Sam joined in. And though the three had a lot to work out still, that was that. They were family, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
